


The Proper Course

by mithrel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-27
Updated: 2009-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin uses a spell to give Arthur advice on a problem with the Court.  It doesn’t work the way he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proper Course

“I can’t _do_ this!” Arthur growled, throwing down his quill in frustration.

“Can’t do what?” Merlin asked from where he was studying a new book on magic he’d been given. As Arthur’s advisor he was still busy, but the tasks were much less arduous, and he had more leisure time.

“Be _King!_ ”

Merlin smiled. “No getting out of it except by dying, I’m afraid.”

“But all this! The speeches, and the overseeing the knights, and the making sure that we keep the alliances we have and forge new ones when we can, and the ensuring that everyone in the kingdom has enough to eat…It’s too much! I can’t do it! And now I have to mediate this dispute between Lord Alric and Earl Hengist, and I have no idea how to do it!”

“You’ll manage. You always do.”

“But–”

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep? They won’t have killed each other in the few hours until dawn.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Arthur grumbled, but he got up from the table and stretched.

As he moved over to the bed, Merlin got up to help him out of his clothes, putting his crown in its box.

“Merlin, you’re not my servant anymore, I keep telling you you don’t have to do this!” Arthur protested.

“And I keep telling you that I don’t mind,” Merlin said. _Like I’d give up my only chance to touch you because it’s not in my job description anymore._

After Arthur was in bed, Merlin began leafing through his cache of spellbooks. He had a feeling he’d seen something that could help Arthur with the dispute. Ah! There it was.

He read the page over three times to make sure the spell did what he thought, and mouthed the words several times to make absolutely sure he pronounced them right (the East Wing of the castle was still uninhabitable). Then he moved over to Arthur’s bed and whispered, “ _Áfandian gerádlic anginn dón._ ”

Arthur sighed and rolled over. The spell would hopefully allow him to figure out how to deal with the disagreement between the nobles. _Really_ , Merlin thought as he left, _I don’t know why Arthur lets them remain in Camelot, they cause so much trouble._

***

The next morning he came in to find Arthur eating breakfast.

“So, have you figured out what to do about Lord Alric and Earl Hengist yet?” Merlin enquired, snatching a roll.

Arthur slapped at his hand, but let him take the roll. “No,” he said tiredly. “I can’t let them fight–their families’ loyalty is too important, and if they fight one of them is going to end up dead–but neither of them are apt to listen to reason.”

“Hotheads rarely do,” Merlin agreed. “You really haven’t thought of anything?”

“No,” Arthur said, giving him an odd look. “Why?”

“No reason.” Merlin said quickly. Obviously the spell hadn’t worked. Ah, well. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“God, I hope so.”

***

Arthur didn’t have to figure out what to do about the nobles. Alric and Hengist came to blows, fighting like children, and he banished them both as a disgrace to his Court. They’d have to deal with the fallout later, but Arthur had made it clear from the beginning of his reign what kind of conduct he expected from his knights and his court. Merlin was concerned, though. Arthur was acting…strange.

It wasn’t anything big, just little changes in behaviour that added up to something wrong.

The first odd occurrence happened two days after Merlin cast the spell. He’d just finished dressing Arthur and Arthur looked at him and said, “Thanks,” with no trace of sarcasm or mockery.

“Uh…you’re welcome?” Merlin replied, taken aback.

And that was just the first time. Arthur _kept_ thanking him.

The second odd occurrence happened when Merlin had been reading all day in Arthur’s chambers, and a maid had slipped in around dinnertime bearing a tray.

“Please, sir, His Majesty requests you eat, since he knows how you get when you’re absorbed in something.”

Merlin looked at the contents of the tray in surprise. It bore a mug of ale, a wedge of cheese, some brown bread and an apple. “Thank you. And tell Arthur…tell His Majesty thank you.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and left.

As Merlin munched the food he wondered. Arthur had often thumped him and told him to eat when he was too fascinated to remember to be hungry, but this was the first time he’d actually sent someone up with a meal. He didn’t know what to think.

Or there was the time when Arthur was wondering about what to do to help the poorer villages. “I can send them supplies, but that won’t help them in the long run. They need to be self-sufficient.”

“Send a few of your best craftsmen out to each village,” Merlin suggested. “Have them do repairs where it’s needed, and teach anyone who wants to learn to do the same. That way they’ll at least know how to keep the villages in repair, and make some of the things they need.”

Arthur stared at him. “Merlin, you’re a genius! That’s brilliant!”

“It was nothing,” he protested.

“No, seriously, I would never have thought of that!” Arthur paused. “You always give good advice.”

Arthur never complimented him unless he wanted something, except when he immediately followed it with an insult, but he’d gone on to the next item without saying anything else.

There were other things as well, like the fact that Arthur seemed to be touching him more. Nothing untoward, and nothing that couldn’t be dismissed, but it had happened too many times to be accidental. Every time Merlin passed him something their fingers brushed. Every time Arthur clapped him on the shoulder the contact lasted just a hair too long, and was a fraction too gentle. And Arthur was _looking_ at him, when he thought Merlin couldn’t see, with an expression on his face that looked like…longing? hope? He wasn’t sure.

It got so Merlin surreptitiously checked him for magical influences. Arthur was acting…well he wasn’t acting like _Arthur_ , and there was obviously something wrong. The fact that his long-buried hopes were stirring didn’t mean Arthur wanted him.

Arthur didn’t _thank_ him. Arthur wasn’t _considerate_. Not with him. He knew full well that Arthur appreciated him, hell, that he would _die_ for him, as Merlin would die for Arthur, but he never _said_ so.

Arthur had never seen him as more than a servant, and, later, a friend and a trusted advisor, and he never would. Sooner or later he would have to get married and produce an heir for the good of the kingdom and Merlin’s heart would shatter into dust, but he’d keep serving him, just as he always had.

He tried to convince himself that it didn’t mean anything, but he found himself staring at Arthur’s hands and lips, wondering what it would feel like if Arthur touched him, kissed him, and no amount of logic or cold baths would stop it.

Arthur wasn’t under any magical influences, hostile or otherwise, and the only residual magical energy in his chambers bore Merlin’s own signature.

He was at a loss to explain it. Arthur simply wasn’t acting like himself, and if he wasn’t enchanted Merlin had no clue why he was doing it.

A week after it had started, he straightened up from where he’d been hunched over a writing-desk in the chambers Arthur had given him when he'd been crowned, groaning, having found no explanation in any of his books.

He felt hands on his shoulders and jumped, whimpering when his tense muscles protested.

“Relax. Your muscles are all knotted.”

“Arthur?” Merlin looked behind him to see Arthur standing near his chair, massaging his shoulders.

“Face forward or I can’t do this properly.”

“What are you doing?” Merlin demanded, turning around again.

“I would have thought that was obvious. I’m massaging you.”

“But you’re the King! You shouldn’t–”

“You need it,” Arthur cut him off.

Merlin decided to stop arguing. He _was_ more relaxed, and it wasn’t like he often had a chance to have Arthur’s hands on him.

He was really quite good, and Merlin wondered, as the tension in his body melted away, where he’d learnt to do this. He felt a pang of jealousy for anyone else Arthur had touched like this, before he shoved it away. He had no right to be jealous. Arthur wasn’t his.

Arthur started working on a particularly tight knot at the base of his skull, and Merlin hissed.

“Alright?” Arthur asked, pausing.

“Yes, yes, it’s fine, just don’t stop!” Merlin told him, ashamed of how pathetic he sounded, but wanting more than anything for Arthur to continue.

Fairly soon he was completely relaxed but Arthur kept massaging him. Now that he was no longer in pain, Merlin was free to concentrate on Arthur’s hands on him…and he realised he was starting to react.

“Arthur, stop!”

“Why?” Arthur asked mildly. “Don’t you like it?”

“Seriously, Arthur, stop it!”

Arthur must have heard the desperation in his voice, because he stopped. Merlin got up from the chair, keeping his back to Arthur.

“Merlin?” Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

Merlin tried to shake him off, but Arthur tightened his hold, and turned him around to face him.

Merlin hung his head, as Arthur absorbed the state he was in.

“Merlin, look at me.”

He shook his head, but Arthur took hold of his chin and gently forced his head up so he could meet his eyes. There was no censure in his eyes, no rejection. He looked more open than Merlin had ever seen him, and his expression showed the same longing that Merlin felt.

His hand still cupping his chin, Arthur leaned forward and kissed him.

Merlin stiffened, and shoved him away.

“What are you doing?”

“You keep asking that question when the answer should be self-evident,” Arthur said, amusement dancing in his tone.

“You don’t want me!”

Now Arthur’s expression became ashamed. “But I do.”

“But–”

He was cut off by another kiss, this one more urgent than before, hot and searing and everything he’d wanted for so long. He moaned and gave himself up to it. If this was a dream (and it had to be) there would be no consequences. If it wasn’t and Arthur regretted it later, and dismissed him, at least he would have had this.

Arthur mouthed down to his neck, removing his kerchief and sucking at his pulse point. Merlin tried to remember why this was a bad idea, but his brain seemed to have turned into fluff, which had scattered on the wind. Arthur drew him toward the bed, and he followed.

***

After he recovered, Merlin looked over at Arthur, lying next to him in the bed, looking sated, then turned away.

Still without looking at Arthur, not sure he wanted to know the answer, he asked, “What brought this on? You don’t want me.”

“I would think you’d know differently by now.” He could hear the smirk in Arthur’s voice, and when he turned back to look at him, sure enough, there was a self-satisfied grin plastered on Arthur’s face. Arthur paused, and looked thoughtful, then continued quietly, “I assumed you knew how I felt about you but you didn’t feel the same way.”

“How you felt about me?” Merlin repeated. _He can’t mean…no, it’s impossible…_

“I love you.”

Merlin stared at him, repeating the words over and over in his mind, trying to make them make some sort of sense. It didn’t help. Arthur must be enchanted after all. Maybe he’d done it himself, inadvertently. There was _no way…_ “No. You don’t. You _can’t!_ ”

“Why not?” Arthur asked, sounding hurt at Merlin’s disbelief. “Give me one reason why I can’t love you!”

“Because you’re the king and I’m a peasant,” Merlin replied promptly.

“What does that matter? Don’t you think Morgana loves Gwen?”

“It’s not the same thing!” Merlin protested.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

Merlin gaped at him for a moment. Morgana and Gwen…? He recovered and came up with another objection. “I’m a warlock.”

“So what?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no ban on magic in Camelot anymore, and you know I don’t mind.”

“But I’m a man!” Merlin said desperately. Just because Merlin himself was a sodomite didn’t mean Arthur was. He couldn’t be, he had to produce an heir…

“Yes, you’re a man. You’re also Merlin, who put up with me even when I was an utter prat, who was willing to sacrifice his life for me, and who is the best friend I’ve ever had. Why shouldn’t I love you?”

“But why tell me now?” Merlin asked, utterly perplexed. From the way Arthur was talking, he’d been in love with him for some time, so why had he waited?

Arthur sighed, collapsing on the pillow. “Like I said, I thought you knew. But a few days ago I realised I hadn’t been very clear about it, and you might not know. So I decided to show you.”

“A few days ago.” Merlin repeated.

“Yes.”

“Was it the day after you said that you couldn’t be King?” Merlin asked, a suspicion forming.

“As a matter of fact it was,” Arthur said, his expression becoming suspicious. “Why?”

“No reason.” _The spell_ did _work, it just didn’t let him know how to fix the feud. And since it not only points to the proper course of action but also something the person can live with and nothing that goes against what they believe in, it’s true. He_ does _love me._

Merlin leaned over and kissed him softly. “I love you too. I have for ages, but you’re the King…”

“You insult me constantly, but you have problems with differences in station when it comes to a relationship?” Arthur asked incredulously.

Merlin laughed. “I guess it does sound stupid.”

Arthur’s hand came up and stroked his hair. “I knew there was a reason why I called you an idiot.”


End file.
